


Loose Ends

by sebviathan



Series: I will share your road [2]
Category: Psych, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Compliant with SPN, M/M, a pretty even mix of whimsical stuff and terrible terrible angst, shawn and cain have a great sex life, takes place in seasons 6-7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An epilogue of sorts. To provide some notion of how Shawn and Cain fair together, and to tie up some loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Ends

July 2010

 

Despite living in an entirely different house, Cain seems to have kept the furniture placement almost exactly the same as before. Shawn has to wonder if he purposely sought out a house with a similar structure, and he doesn't hesitate to ask.

"You know I don't like change," Cain tells him simply before instinctively stepping towards the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"Nah, I got a tall drink of water in front of me already," he smirks, pointedly kissing him once more.

They would probably continue kissing for much longer if it weren't for all that's begging to be talked about. Shawn isn't exactly reluctant to do so, either—he's had an eventful year and a half.

He tells Cain about how the almost-apocalypse was out on the road, including all the rumors that flew through the hunter community—the Devil, the angels, the  _Winchesters_ _—_ and of course his own experiences. How Gus joined him and actually got a taste of the hunter life. How surreal it was to live knowing that he was one of the few people who genuinely knew what was going on and yet he couldn't do a thing about it.

Funnily enough, Cain looks more concerned than any other point when he initially, vaguely mentions Juliet.

Maybe concerned isn't the right word, but it definitely elicits the most emotion. He does this slight taken-aback sort of motion and blinks about twenty times before saying, quietly,

"You met someone?"

"I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again," Shawn counters. "I wanted to enjoy myself just in case. Anyway. It ended badly and I'm never seeing her again—there's too much... guilt there."

Maybe he should have accepted that drink, he thinks.

Simultaneously, Cain feels compelled to stand up and grab a beer for him. But he remains seated.

"Do you miss her?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Shawn admits easily. And then he tilts his head and gives Cain an odd look. "If you're getting jealous, it's not like you have to compete for my feelings. I fancy myself capable of loving more than one person at the same time."

"Did you love her?" Cain asks quickly, raising a sharp eyebrow. Not jealous. Just surprised.

Shawn shrugs. "I cared a lot about her. Don't know if I knew her long enough to be able to use that word. but I definitely could have."

And then before he can even fully process that answer, without even quite meaning to say it—

"Do you love me?"

Cain realizes the gravity of that question too late; Shawn's already opened his mouth to answer:

"What else can you call it when I find you like this after so long?"

Nevermind the fact that they hadn't even known each other a week before Shawn had left. It only makes sense that time would work differently between them.

After a moment's pause, and with a growing smile as he says it, Shawn asks, "Do you love  _me_?"

The word really _shouldn't_  be scary to either of them at this point.

If he hadn't killed Colette, she'd be dead by now anyway. She'd have died a century ago at the least. But even to just say  _yes_ , not even to let the whole phrase roll off his tongue again after so long, feels too quick.

"...Maybe when you can give me a solid answer, I'll give you a solid answer."

 

* * *

 

 It was a mistake, making Shawn leave. Cain knows now that he risked more by shoving him back out into the world than he'd have done by keeping him.

"But you couldn't have known that," Shawn insists. The air is so thick with guilt and frustration that it almost feels like he's pushing through caramel as crosses the space between their chairs. "I'm a psychic and  _I_  didn't even know that."

He frowns. "You're not that kind of psychic."

Then Shawn straddles his lap and kisses him, and he accepts it but doesn't quite soften up.

"I'm alive, Cain. Isn't that what matters?"

"I'm never making you leave again," he says at once, driven by how warm Shawn is against him, how much like home he feels. "You're free to leave, of course—I know how much you like the open road, I obviously won't  _force_ you to stay, I meant—"

Shawn sees no better way to shut him up than to kiss him again, which he consciously thinks he'll probably be doing a lot of as they spend more time together.

When he pulls away, he keeps their faces close.

"You  _know_  you don't have to worry about me. I'll always come back."

"If something happens—"

"I'll find you."

Cain can't find it in himself to doubt that.

 

* * *

 August 2010

 

The first time Shawn leaves for a hunt, he returns with a gift.

"I got you a flip phone. 'Cause, you know, it's fucking stupid that we don't have any way to communicate when I'm not here? Seriously, we should've done this the first time around."

Cain takes it from Shawn's hand with uncertainty—he understands how useful it would be, but he's still relatively wary of technology. He's never used one of these things in his life.

"I'll pay the bills on it," Shawn reassures at the look Cain gives him. "It's pay-as-you-go, and it's by the minute, so it won't even be that much. Besides, this way I can call you if I'm in trouble, or if I just wanna let you know I'm on my way."

 _Or if I'm horny_ , he adds mentally, and just the  _idea_  of being in some motel across the country and talking dirty over the phone while he desperately ruts into his own hand—

Well, frankly, it makes him want to leave right that second.

"And you're sure these calls or... texts can't be traced on these?" Cain asks, continuing to frown between Shawn and the phone in his hand.

"Oh,  _yeah_. These phones are pretty much made with the  _purpose_  to not be traced. The only people who even use them anymore are drug dealers and old people."

Cain can't genuinely be offended—since he  _is_  old, he's literally the oldest person on earth—but he still throws him a glare. At which Shawn coughs and immediately steps forward to open the phone and start pressing buttons.

"And  _look_ _—_ there's games on it too, so you'll never get bored!"

 

* * *

 

 One thing that Cain didn't have time to learn about Shawn before they were initially cut short is that he is kinky as  _fuck_.

As Shawn describes it, anyway.

And naturally, Cain is hesitant. The first time Shawn asks him to bite him, he doesn't assume he wants it nearly as hard as he actually does. He goes through about six tries before Shawn stops telling him " _harder_." And he's entirely surprised that Shawn literally wants to bend over his lap and get spanked until he cries.

It's not that Cain is any stranger to this sort of thing. Not at all. His longest ever relationship was full of the roughest, nastiest sex one could imagine—and that's really the thing. He only ever did this with one of the most twisted demons on Earth, and the fact that someone like  _Shawn_  wants this...

To say the least, it's baffling.

But he gives him what he wants, within certain limits. Shawn understands and doesn't push it, luckily—Cain couldn't bring himself to  _really_  hurt Shawn, and so he absolutely refuses to do anything that draws blood. He won't face-fuck him, mainly out of concern for what he might do on accident (but he  _will_  let Shawn do it to him). And more than anything he simply  _cannot_ _—_ he is literally not  _able_  to—call him demeaning names while fucking him.

And it's okay. For Shawn, all that is mostly just icing on the cake, considering how intense sex with Cain is on its own. He could spend a hundred years with him, touching him every single day, and he's sure he would never  _quite_  get used to what it does to his psychic senses when they're so... intimate.

While he won't ask too much of Cain, however, he can't help but want more.

Being a psychic is only ever too much when he's around some mediocre energy. Only then does he actually wish he wasn't like this, that he didn't have to feel so much—but when he's actually reminded of just how much he  _can_  feel? He wants it all.

He wants to know exactly how much he can possibly feel, sexually or otherwise, and he wants Cain to give that to him.

It's not that he never thought about it before; Shawn has, indeed, glanced in that direction so many times while getting fucked on his back, and each time he's ignored it, for Cain's sake, knowing he'd be too worried—

But eventually he cracks. He's right about to come and he has no room for inhibitions even as he stares directly at Cain's face, and he just reaches out and grips the Mark tight.

"Don't— _Shawn_ _—_ "

The moment Cain notices, he stills, but Shawn is already arching and  _screaming_  like he's in a great deal of pain—and he is, but far less than the first time he did this. The pleasure overshadows it anyway.

He comes so hard that it hits the wall behind them, and in the following moments, he thinks he might even come again. But he lets go.

And while catching his breath, he almost doesn't notice Cain pulling out and lying down beside him. His voice even echoes a bit.

"Why did you do that?"

Shawn takes a moment to roll his head over to look at his face, and then it still takes some effort to gather the energy to speak properly.

"I wanted to... to feel more connected. To you. Didn't you feel it?"

"Of course I did, but I doubt that's  _safe_ , Shawn—"

"It hasn't killed me yet," he chuckles. Which frustrates Cain even more.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself like that."

"Cain, you—you don't...  _understand_. That was the  _best_  thing... in my whole life, babe. I can't—I can't even talk, I'm... that was so  _good_. Shit—did you even come?"

He still feels iffy about it, but seeing Shawn like this, a babbling mess with rosy cheeks and hearts in his eyes—well, it certainly drowns out a lot of his concern.

"Yes, as soon as you did."

The way Shawn smiles, then, is one of the most beautiful things Cain has ever seen.

"So you  _definitely_  felt it."

 

* * *

 November 2010

 

After so much whining and insisting on Shawn's part, Cain finally tells him that he's up for a movie. A modern one. And that he'll allow him to chose.

"About half of your personality is pop culture references, and I suppose I'd like to understand some of them."

"You're not gonna understand much after only seeing  _one_  movie, though."

"Then I guess you better make it count."

The obvious solution would be to choose a franchise, like Indiana Jones or Star Wars, so that Cain would  _have_  to watch all of it—but after some serious thinking, Shawn decides it's better if he picks something that Cain is likely to actually enjoy.

Nothing  _too_  violent, for obvious reasons. So no Tarantino films. But also nothing purely comedic or romantic because the last thing Shawn wants is to patronize him. He highly doubts that Cain would like anything sci-fi if only because of all the technology, or even anything made within the last ten years.

It's honestly a surprise that he doesn't think of it immediately—it's one of his all-time favorite films.

" _Interview with the Vampire_?"

The look Cain gives him as he reads out the title on the DVD case is both hesitant and amused. Though he's more amused at Shawn's grin than anything.

"Based off a book, hardly anything modern, and—well, vampires. Also Brad Pitt. And it's relatable! To you, anyway. Like... they live a long time. And it's pretty homoerotic, so."

Cain raises an eyebrow. "It's pornography?"

"Oh—no, it's not like,  _explicit_  gay stuff—well, it  _is_  pretty fucking gay, but—"

"I'm messing with you," Cain says with a small smirk. "I know it's not porn—I'm old, but I know what 'homoerotic' means. So... we're going to watch this on that tiny DVD player?"

"It won't be that bad," Shawn assures. "As long as we scoot up real close."

As it turns out, the movie is nearly as good as the cuddling. Cain admits, afterwards, that he isn't too averse to the idea of watching another.

But not for another week. Maybe two. Or a month.

 

* * *

 February 2011

 

It's about time that Gus is allowed to learn about Cain.

Shawn has been hounding him about it ever since he initially found him post-pre-apocalypse. There hasn't been any real reason to keep it a secret (not safety related, anyway), but of course, Cain's been hesitant. And when you've been alive for six thousand years, several months of hesitation is perfectly reasonable.

His decision comes out of nowhere, too—Shawn wakes up one morning to find Cain trimming his beard, and when he notices him he doesn't even turn away from the mirror, but simply says,

"If you'd like to tell your friend Gus about us, I suppose that's okay with me now."

Shawn blinks. "Oh."

There's a pause where he expects Cain to explain further, but he doesn't.

"Uh. Was I mumbling about him in my sleep or something?"

"No?"

"I mean—I didn't think he would ever be on your mind, so..."

"I told you countless times that I'd think about it, and I  _have_  been thinking about it. And I decided that from what you've told me, Gus is trustworthy. And furthermore I don't want to force you to lie to your best friend."

"Oh.  _Awww_." Shawn grins and sidles up behind Cain to wrap his arms appreciatively around his waist.

" _Careful_ ," he warns. Scissors are hardly a danger to him, but he likes to pretend he's a normal human when he can.

Which Shawn understands, so he lets go.

"Do you wanna meet him?"

"Um. After last time, I think it's better if I stay out of Santa Barbara."

"What if I brought him here?"

"I'd rather you not."

"Can I at least take a picture of you to show him?"

"...Fine."

"Sweet!" Shawn immediately rushes to get his phone even though Cain hasn't even finished with his beard or combed his hair yet. And when he returns, Cain frowns at him.

"You're not even going to let me make myself decent?"

"You look rugged, it's great," he says. "Plus, if I take a mirror selfie with you in your natural state, then Gus won't have any reason to doubt you're actually my boyfriend and that I didn't just google search ' _foxy grandpa_ ' to get a picture of you."

Cain immediately blushes for several reasons, but the thing that gets him to actually turn, and to stare in silence for a moment, lips slightly parted and fingers now loose around the scissors—

"Boyfriend?"

"That's on the first try— _nice_. Uh—" Shawn takes the picture (with Cain looking just like that, flushed with surprise and eyes looking like a doe's) before he registers what he said. Taking a moment to glance at the picture first, he turns as well. "Is that... weird?"

"Well."  _Sort of._  "The term seems a little too..."

"Modern?"

"That too, but I meant... immature? I feel a little too old to be someone's  _boyfriend_."

Shawn laughs at that, and then looks at the picture he took again, for a moment.

"What do you want to call it, then? I'm open to anything—partners, lovers... butt-buddies?"

Cain feels his throat begin to close for a moment, but he knows better. He knows Shawn has to be joking. And yet,

"I would  _hope_  you see us as more than butt-buddies..."

"Of course I do, babe—" Hardly ten in the morning and he already accidentally fucked with Cain's insecurities.  _Great fucking job._  "That's why I called you my boyfriend. And actually—I lied before, I don't want to call us  _partners_ , that's just... too lame. It's for self-hating gay men and cowboys and I am _neither_  of those, so."

"Hm." Cain turns back to the mirror and resumes trimming stray hairs off of his beard. " _Lovers_  sounds too inherently sexual to me."

"You have anything else in mind?" Shawn asks, leaning against the bathroom counter now.

"We could just  _not_  label it."

"I figured you'd be all about labels, with how stuck to the Old Ways you kind of are."

"The  _Old Ways_  usually involved getting married to someone a month after you met them."

"Well, I gotta call you my  _something_  when I show this to Gus.  _Look at it_ , you look so innocent!" he adds, handing the phone to him with a grin. "It'll really throw him off when I tell him who you are."

He's gotten relatively used to this sort of thing, but it's still so odd to see a picture of himself. As far as Cain knows, there isn't a single portrait or photograph of him anywhere—any that were ever taken of him got destroyed. And now all the pixels that make up his face are stored inside that phone pretty much forever.

...He  _does_  look innocent there. Not that he tries not to.

"I suppose it's alright if you call me your boyfriend," he muses aloud, handing the phone back. "Just for simplicity's sake."

"What if I called you my honeybee?"

It's stupid and cheesy and  _obviously_  a joke anyway, but Cain's lips stretch into a smile regardless—so wide, and so painfully obvious that Shawn feels the immediate need to get on his tiptoes and kiss the wrinkles beside his eyes. Both in adoration and a sort of victory.

 

* * *

 

 Shawn waits a week so he can see his friend's face in reaction to his secret in person. When he shows him the picture, Gus gives him a tense look.

"Shawn, I'm gonna ask you a question and I need you to answer honestly: Do you have a sugar daddy?"

"That would imply I'm getting money from him, so no. He does kinda look like one, though, now that I think about it."

Gus looks at the picture again and frowns.

"How old is he?"

" _That_ ," Shawn says with a barking laugh, "is a loaded question. You're probably gonna want to sit down for this."

 

* * *

 October 2011

 

For a little over a year, they've been sticking to a schedule of Shawn visiting at least once a month, staying about a week, and generally working one or two jobs in between. Which is why Cain is surprised to hear a motorcycle engine outside his door merely two days after the last time he left. Especially since he hasn't received any calls since then.

He gets up and opens the door as soon as he hears it, and along with a gust of wind comes Shawn, who immediately kisses him without warning.

"Shawn—?"

"I love you. So much. I need you to know that—"

Alarmed, and catching on, Cain pushes him away so that he can look him in the eye.

"What's wrong?"

"Say it back," he breathes instead of answering.

" _Shawn_ _—_ "

"Please."

This is out of nowhere and he wasn't prepared at  _all_ and the door isn't even closed yet, but Cain relents and says something that, frankly, he shouldn't have waited this long to say anyway.

"...I love you too, Shawn. Now  _what_  is going on?"

Of course, it had to be a second impending apocalypse—or at least a new huge monster as old as time. Nothing else could make Shawn panic enough to say the L-word first.  _Of course_.

"There's new monsters that never existed before. Hybrids. And remember how I told you a month or so ago that I heard something about someone trying to round the Alphas up? Well, I think it ties in. Earlier, right before I started driving here, I was on a job to kill one of those hybrids. I had it pinned and it started spouting something about its mother, so I touched it, and it was like I had hacked into it or something—I got the make and model and the original blueprints and everything, and I don't know exactly what it—or  _she_  was, but—"

"Eve." Cain should have fucking known. He'd felt a change in the atmosphere some time ago, but he didn't think it was necessarily something bad.

He frowns deeply and sighs, and promptly heads towards his booze cabinet. Shawn follows.

"As in... your mom?"

"No, a different Eve. But a mother all the same. I've never met her, but the fact that she's out of Purgatory, making new monsters... it's not good. And it's no coincidence that it's happening so soon after the apocalypse was stopped."

 _Maybe the world just really wants to end,_  Shawn can't help but think. Cain promptly hands him a glass of bourbon before pouring himself one, and he downs half of it in one go.

"So what does this mean?" he asks.

"It means you're staying here. At least for a while."

 

* * *

 

 Eve couldn't possibly have any idea who Cain is, seeing as she was locked in Purgatory before he was even born, so they consider themselves safe.

Shawn doesn't have complete peace of mind, though. He's left alone with his thoughts a lot of the time and he can't even hop on his motorcycle and ride his worries away because Cain doesn't want him going off the property. He won't even let him come along when he runs errands in town.

He understands the overprotectiveness. He was the one who rushed to his house for fear that something terrible might happen before he was ever able to say  _I love you_  out loud in the first place, so of _course_  he does. But he's still dying to get out of the house, just to calm his nerves.

And eventually he does. Just once, he figures—he'll do it once, when Cain's out getting groceries, and he'll only be gone for five minutes. He gets some wind in his hair and Cain doesn't have to worry, it's a win-win.

Except the universe doesn't want to work in his favor. That, and he gets a little carried away.

It's even worse than the risk of actually getting hurt, really, to see Cain's face as they reach the entrance to his property at the same time. He keeps that expression until they both park in front of his house, it seems, and then it gets even worse.

"You could have asked," he says. Shawn expects a growl, or for him to yell, but it's just cold.

"Would you even have said yes?" he counters, his voice coming out a lot stronger than he thought he'd be able to.

"I'm sorry if I've given you the impression that I'm keeping you here like some jailer, Shawn—you're free to leave whenever you want."

"Oh, come on, you  _know_  it's not like that. I just wanted—"

"A little freedom, I know, and you think I'm keeping you from it. I just want to keep you  _safe_ , Shawn, is that so terrible?"

Neither of them are all that surprised that they're having this fight, but that doesn't make them feel any better about it. Shawn feels terrible standing so far from him, especially when his perfect memory offers that this is about the same distance at which they had their first ever fight. And even further because of how cold the air is, both on its own and from the energy Cain is giving off.

He drops his shoulders and swallows.

"Do you really think I'm gonna get jumped, just driving up and down the road?" he asks desperately. "Or if I'm just in the truck with you? Or in the dairy aisle at the store?"

"You could be recognized as a hunter and followed."

"In this tiny-ass town? I was at a worse risk of getting hurt on normal hunts when I was actually able to drive all over the country."

"Shawn, we—" Cain then wipes his hand over his face and takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself level. "We already talked about this. I don't want  _any_ risk. And may I remind you—you  _did_  agree at the time."

"I wasn't thinking about how crazy being stuck here would make me at the time!" He sees Cain's face drop just slightly and immediately regrets saying that. "...I don't feel like your prisoner, Cain—I love being with you. I'm just...  _antsy_. Driving around in circles on the property isn't enough, I... Sometimes I just  _need_ _—_ "

"Once a week," he interrupts. His voice doesn't change, though. "I'll let you go for a short drive once a week,  _when_  I'm home, so I know when you're gone. And you can come with me on errands."

Shawn doesn't know what to say for a moment, except—

"That was quick."

"I've been a little irrational, and I understand your needs, and I'm sorry. But I'm still...  _frustrated_  with you."

"I can tell," he laughs nervously, but he stops at the look Cain gives him. "I mean—I'm... also sorry. But, okay, clearly we're both in the wrong here, and I can just as easily say I'm also still frustrated with you, so we can just call it even, right? I really  _don't_  want to do the whole 'sulky and not talking to each other' thing."

Cain doesn't either, so he consciously softens his expression and folds his arms.

"I won't be sulky, but you can't stop me from being upset."

"We could—"

"And no, we're  _not_  having angry sex."

Cain has some pretty obvious reasons for not wanting to do that with him, but it doesn't make it any less disappointing.

"What about normal sex?"

"We can do that. Later. After we're both completely over this."

"I could suck you off and maybe you'd be over it faster?"

Shawn grins hopefully, and then gets an annoyed frown in return. Cain's already turning away from him.

"If you want to do something for me, unload all these groceries. I'll be out back with the bees for a while, and I expect I'll be fine once I return."

 _...And_ then _you can suck me off,_  he thinks as he disappears from Shawn's sight.

 

* * *

 February 2012

 

Cain senses the moment that Eve is gone from this plane of existence. Even Shawn can tell—there's something different about the air. The weather's changed.

And, perhaps, spending so long around Cain has just deepened their connection. His psychic senses may have expanded to a cosmic scale. At least for now, while he's still here.

He doesn't leave immediately, though Cain wouldn't mind if he did. Shawn stays for a few more days to celebrate the fact that the world is  _not_ , in fact, ending—but that gets him thinking again. It's stupid for his thoughts to be in a bad place when he should just be wholly relieved, but this is the  _second_  near-apocalypse in just a couple years. Who knows when the next one will be?

It's also probably stupid for him to bring it up when he and Cain are in bed and about to sleep, but it's on his mind and it's not going away and he  _needs_  to say it.

"Cain."

"Hm?"

"What do you plan to do when I get old?"

His heart skips a beat, waking him up completely.

"Because I  _will_  get old," Shawn continues before he can say anything. "I'm human. Either that or I'll get killed, which is really more likely..."

"Why are you doing this now?" he says in a quiet, pained voice. He genuinely doesn't understand.

"Because I was thinking about it. I'm mortal, Cain, and you're not, and this is the plot to every stupid supernatural romantic tragedy—but it doesn't have to be."

Cain desperately hopes that Shawn isn't saying what he thinks he's saying, and remains silent during his pause.

"You could turn me into a demon."

There it is. Out on the line, for Cain to reject it swiftly.

"No."

"It's not like you're giving me the Mark or anything, you'd just be turning me into a normal demon. You can still do that, can't you?"

"Shawn, you don't know what you're asking for," he starts before he actually realizes—

"Uh, yes? I do?" Shawn promptly sits up on the bed, now that the conversation's escalated. "I gotta know it better than any human out there. And as far as being hideous and deformed on a spiritual level, I think it's worth it."

Cain sits up with him reluctantly.

"I'm not doing that to you."

"Doing what? Making me immortal? Making it so I can spend forever with you—because I  _want_  to, Cain. Unless... you don't—"

"Don't do that," he snaps. "You know I do. But what happens when forever means the end of humanity? I know you're afraid of the world ending for good, but you don't  _want_  to live past it, Shawn. It'll be dark and desolate and miserable and I'm already condemned to it but  _you don't have to be_."

"...What if I still think it's worth it?"

"Then you're an idiot."

"Tell me something I don't know. More importantly—tell me, to my face, that you're okay with me dying. And then maybe I'll let this go."

"I'm not! But I can't... I can't  _corrupt your soul_ like that, Shawn! You're psychic, don't you understand? You feel everyone else's soul, but do you feel your own? It's  _clean_. No one owns it but yourself. But if I do this you'll go to Hell one way or another, no way around it."

"Yeah," Shawn says like it's obvious. "So I'll still get to be with you."

They stare at each other in silence for a full minute after that. Cain doesn't know what to say or even what to think.

So he doesn't. Eventually he decides to simply lie back down and pull Shawn with him, then kiss him on the cheek before pressing his face into the pillow.

"Uh. Cain?"

"Give me another ten years, or until the next apocalypse," he mumbles sleepily. "Whichever comes first. And then I'll think about it."

 

* * *

 May 2012

 

It's in the water. They never could have seen it coming. Not even Shawn, with his powers.

He doesn't sense things that don't have souls, after all.

It's just the  _water_.

All it takes is a shower in some motel in Kansas, and Shawn isn't Shawn anymore. Pretty damn close, though. It's got his body—which includes his brain. All of his memories are there.

 _Oh, he hunts monsters. He's a_ psychic _that hunts monsters. That's an interesting turn of events._

_And what's that?_

_Oh._

_Oh, I hit the jackpot, didn't I?_

Without hesitation, and without even turning the shower off, it clothes itself and takes Shawn's motorcycle on a ride directly to Montana.

 

* * *

 

 Not only did Shawn not call before showing up, but he didn't even knock. Cain's told him that he doesn't have to, but he always does, so it's startling to see him even though he heard the motorcycle.

"Hey, did something—?"

Before he can get out the word ' _happen_ ' Shawn collapses against the wall—and Cain immediately steps forward to help, but he stands back up a moment later.

"Woah, those vibes were  _crazy_."

As Shawn brushes himself off, Cain merely frowns in confusion. That sounded just like something Shawn said the first time he met him.

And then he notices that this is the first time he's seen Shawn without his hair spiked up in the middle of the day. He isn't wearing his usual protective necklace, either.

 _That's not_ _—_

"What are you and  _where_  is Shawn?" he growls the moment he realizes, taking a step back.

The thing wearing Shawn's face doesn't seem alarmed or deterred by the fact that he knows. If anything, it's amused as it approaches him.

"Shawn's right here," it says, tapping its temple. "I mean, this  _is_  his body. And his brain. The original one. All his abilities, too—'cept I'm not used to them, so it's pretty trippy in here right now. But I'll manage."

This isn't a demon. Cain can tell that much. But whatever it is, it's possessing Shawn, so he feels no doubt in his ability as he shoves his sleeve up and takes a step forward to smite the thing.

Nothing happens. No red light. No smiting power despite his will to make it happen. Shawn—the  _fake_  Shawn—remains standing, perfectly alive. And it laughs at him.

"You really don't know what I am, do you?"

A surge of fear unlike anything he's felt for thousands of years makes him drop his hand and step back. And as he does, the thing turns into  _him_.

"Oh, this is  _nice_ ," it says with his own voice. "But I think I'll have a better time as Shawn while I eat you..."

As it transforms back into Shawn, Cain understands what this thing is. He never knew if the Leviathan were even real before now, but he knows that he  _can't_  kill it. Not without the First Blade.

There isn't much time to think before Shawn's face turns into an enormous, gaping mouth that launches at him—

In a moment's notice, he's on the other side of the room. And when the Leviathan turns to him, it has a normal face again.

"Why run, Cain? Don't you  _want_  to die? I know you do, I got inside your brain for just a couple seconds and it's so glaringly obvious. Just let me eat you. You'll be a nice meal and then join the void."

It charges at him again, and Cain swipes at the air, sending it flying to hit the other wall with a sickening crack.

 _Not this way_ , he thinks. Not straight into the belly of a monster. Not by something with Shawn's face and Shawn's  _voice_ , not when Shawn is... _oh god, he's_ _—_

"I wouldn't do that," the Leviathan says as it stands up, perfectly fine but for a trail of black goo oozing out of its eye. "Shawn is still alive."

Cain's heart drops into his stomach.

"You're lying."

"Am not. He's here, in the back of his head. I can hear him thinking. He's trying to overpower me, how cute—"

"YOU'RE LYING!" he yells, with anger so righteous it feels like thunder, and disgust so deep that he hardly even needs to will it consciously for a plate to come flying out of the kitchen like a disc, straight at the Leviathan's neck.

Once the head flies off, though, it's just Shawn's neck. Because all Cain can see is that he has just killed Shawn, whether he was already dead or not, and he  _screams_.

His eyes force themselves shut so tightly that tears can't even make their way out, and Cain crumples to the floor with his hand over his mouth.

It's Colette all over again. Only this time it's somehow worse.

He wants to die. He's always wanted to die, but Shawn did put that feeling on hold. Shawn made him okay with being alive.

Cain hasn't attempted to kill himself in a long time. It's never worked—but maybe the five-hundredth time's the charm.

Not now, though. He can't leave Shawn like this. Instinct kicks in before he can wallow in his own agony for too long, and Cain gets up. He gets the largest box he has and dumps out its contents and then he takes Shawn's head—and he desperately,  _desperately_  tries to ignore the look of fear on his eyes as he closes it in. He doesn't make nearly as much of an effort not to vomit on the floor.

It doesn't matter. He has to move again after this is over, anyway, lest any other Leviathan come for him.

Then he carries the box and drags the rest of the body out back.

The digging is the easy part. It keeps him distracted from the reality of what just happened, and it gives him something to do other than just scream. It gives him some kind of purpose before he tries, just one more time, to end it all.

After several hours, he has two deep holes dug. And for the third time in his life, Cain has to bury someone he loves.


End file.
